Wednesday, 22 January 2014

Article by plume:  World War 64

In my last post I do believe I detailed the magical properties of 'Gamebase' for the Commodore 64, and how it allowed me to sample the binary euphoria of 22500 games (and counting) known to have been produced for the electronic dream machine. (Thats the 'C64' Geo, not the 'Spaztrum'.) Using your mind-brains, remember that number: '22500'. Then, read this ebay listing bought to my attention by the lovely 'Lemon 64' community:

The following is an account of the actions I followed upon discovery of this item. Some animals were (probably) harmed.

(Imagine the world goes a bit wobbly, as if entering a dream. Just like 'Rent-a-ghost'. But without that fucking WITCH-LORD 'Timothy Claypole'.)

Little known fact: At the moment this photo was taken, Timothy was holding back a particularly forceful spirit. Timothy later swears its phantom penis didn't enter his mouth. The picture tells a different story.


My first step in decyphering this mysterious ebay listing was to employ the remaining survivors of Britains WWII 'Bletchly Park' encryption facility, in the hope that they could provide any insight into the scrawlings presented before me. My initial thought was to offer a 99p 'Buy Now!' to the seller on an original 'Babbage Difference Engine', circa 1800's but to no avail.

Anyway...the old girls at Bletchly Park were delighted at the opportunity to solve anything other than 'Giant Sudoku' in the 'Mail on Sunday' so they agreed to the task at hand, regardless of what I offered the seller or, themselves.

(Turns out you can bribe post-war pensioners with trolley tokens wrapped in tin-foil with the word "Munny" written on them. Old twats.)

(Another wobbly dream bit below...)


plume and the Bletchly girls are sat in what appears to be a sodden WWII shelter. World weary school desks replete with inkwells, are their workspace. Wooden stools replete with...well nothing really, just wood; are their...stools. They are surrounded by makeshift, wire-spewing radiography equipment. The incessant tap of morse-code in the background creates a sense of urgent urgency. urgently.

As plume (the girls) struggled through the meandering text contained within the ebay listing, the Bletchly girls, mentally exausted, finally arrived at their (plume's) ultimate goal: The tertiary, secondary and primary translation combined! It was akin to decyphering the actual 'Rosseta Stone'! (Not related to the shitty C64 conversion of 'Double Dragon 3: the Rosseta Stone' ™ which I hope to review at the end of this article, but the 'real life' ™ 1 hyroglyphic, 1 ancient Greek and 1 Demotic greek transcryption 'real-life' ™ conversion.)

Is that what the fortune teller told them?? 'Push fire button'?? I hope it immediately set them on fire.

...But wait...

The hardworking Bletchly girls had compiled their (plume's) report.

Bletchly girl #1: "I'm sorry plume, I simply cannot...I...I'm..."

She places the second and index fingers of her hands to both temples, kneading, in an attempt to waylay the encumberence of thought.

: "It's OK...I understand that the 4000 games detailed in that ebay sale is nowhere near to the 22500+ games detailed in 'Gamebase', and the mere thought of that disk-box in the accompanying image containing every C64 game ever created, has just ushered in a little bit of bile from my trachea in to my beautifully formed mouth."

The aging bletchly girls probably all agreed in their minds that I had a beautifully formed mouth.


(Unexpectedly, plume's clenched fist, bound with the rage of 1000 drunken puma's driving tanks, gently tapped at the wooden desk. He didn't want to get a splinter from the nasty and probably, spikey wood.)

"...You may stop your plight girls. To end this, I am thinking about sending a question to the the seller. In question."

Bletchly girl #2:
"Please do!"

Bletchly girl #3:
"Yes! Please do! for Bletchly girl #2 and I, haven't had a slight to do since we re-programmed 'Colossus'!"

Bletchly girl #2
throws her punch cards into the air in triumphant triumph. It's as if the triumph had made her TURBO triumphant.

Bletchly girl #1: "Wait, what? Did you say 'you've had nothing to do?' Have I been doing all the sodding work here? You bloody cows..."

Me (out of shot) and the hard working Bletchly girls. Just before bloody Dinner arrived. Probably.

Bletchy girl#1's caustic reprimand was rudely interrupted by Dinner.

Dinner, the butler, had entered the room by the rear entrance and immediately apologised for his Interruption.

Dinner the Butler: "I do apologise for my Interruption, he has a tendancy to bark loudly at the sight of punch cards being thrown triumphantly into the air."

Interruption the dog
: "WOOF!"

plume: "Where did you come from? Since when did we have a fucking butler? (He then gestured toward the hard-working Bletchly girls.) I'm (they're) trying to decypher the most magical ebay listing presented to the human race since Lance Burton tried to sell himself on ebay as Paul Daniels, hoping that Debbie McGee would buy him, and you are offering us food? Actually, are you offering food? Because you haven't yet."

Dinner the Butler:
"Again, my apologies. Sir, Madams...Food has arrived.

Food McLood, the boy waiter, arrived by means of throwing stink-bomb capsuals onto the cracked bathstone-tiled floor of the bomb shelter, thinking they would produce a curtain of smoke from which he could mysteriously emerge from. They didn't. What they did produce was a pungent, sulphuric, shit of a stench.

Food looked decidedly downtrodden and was sick several times in quick succesion while we all watched uncomfortably, before proudly announcing that "Food is Here!" Twice.

Food McLood: "Food is here! And Food is here!"

The boy-waiter continued to present himself, and then actual food. It consisted of two massive silver gastronoms, one filled with the most elegantly spiced Balti ever concieved, and the other with rice so fragrant, that even the most majestic of roses wilted before it. (Both the flower and the selection of cheap Cadburys chocolates.)

Bletchly girl#3: "I aint' eatin' any of that foreign shit."

plume: "Hang on, shouldnt you be talking like an upstanding 1940's flower of the war?"

Bletchly girl#2
: "Well yes, but...NO. You employed us unto this ridiculous article, and to be perfectly honest, none of us know what a "Condom Sexty Force computer" actually IS"

Bletchly girl#1: "Where's my munny?"


"God-dammit! I employed you with the understanding that this...this "ebay listing" could be 'completly' decyphered. We have the chance to offer future generations an alternative path. A way of seperating the wheat from the chaff. A way out."

Bletchly girl#3 firmly places her left hand onto plume's shoulder in an assuring manner. It had to be her left hand, as her right was stuffing delicious Balti into her gaping mouth-hole.

Bletchly girl#3: "This muck actually tastes quite peachy. Now get on with the 'Double Drag-act 3' review, you stinking jackanape. "IT'S ONLY A FUCKING GAME."

The residual dust from the Axis bombing run gradually subsides outside of the Bletchly encrytption shelter. Eventually, all who were contained within the safe-haven, emerge into the wasteland. 'What they saw has only now, been documented...'

*Geo slowly slips the mask of Bletchly girl#3 off his magnificantly toned face and turns to face plume in the wasteland of War-torn Britain. Bomb-licked houses and plumes of kicked-up, brick-red dust surround them. Geo is dramatically back-curtained by grey smoke, ringing with the cries of the wounded*

"REMEMBER THIS?..." (He holds up a tape of 'Double Dragon 3' for the Commodore 64, almost crushing it in his bear-like fist, for Geo has fists like bears and speaks in a frighteningly powerful voice, that even Gods fear.)

plume: "Ummmm, yes mate, unfortunately..."


Double Dragon 3 Review


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